Jeffersons saddle, p.11
Jefferson's Saddle, page 11
Samantha looked at the body by the tree, saw the small hole in the forehead and knew that there was no help to be had from that quarter. Momentarily, fear gripped her. It was clear that Cartwright was a ruthless man, determined to have everything he wanted. The dark look in his eye confirmed that his want of her was now paramount.
When Barclay had thrown her from across his saddle she had hit the ground with the same shoulder that she’d hurt when getting a rifle to Charlie Jefferson during the shootout on Mortimer’s main street. Now it nagged, as did the bruise on her jaw where Cartwright had punched her But, rather than weaken her, these things only strengthened her resolve, and although afraid, she was not terrified into inactivity. Whatever Cartwright did to her it wouldn’t be done without a fight.
Dipping her right shoulder as though she meant to run in that direction where there were trees and bushes that might offer a hiding-place, she bent low and moved instead to her left. Her target was the gun she’d seen still clenched in the dead man’s hand. If she could reach it she could yet escape from her attacker. She wasn’t a stranger to guns, her father had taught her to handle them from a young age.
But despite his size, Cartwright could also move quickly. Tricked at first by the girl’s feint, he recovered quickly, making a grab for, her but she ducked under his lunge. Turning to give chase, he immediately understood the girl’s intention: the gun barrel was bright in the moonlight. He shouted as she dived to the ground and rolled towards the weapon. Swiftly he covered the ground between them, got his hands on her shoulders and tried to pull her away. He felt a pain in his shin as she kicked backwards to defend herself.
Samantha reached for the gun, got her hand around the barrel and tried to pull it towards her, but it was held in a dead man’s grip and didn’t come free easily. She felt Cartwright’s hands on her arms, tried to resist his effort to drag her away but he was very strong and although she struggled valiantly her resistance was doomed to failure. But she clung to the pistol and when she was lifted off Sol Barclay’s body the gun was in her hand.
Cartwright shook her violently until she dropped the gun, then he cast her aside so that she hit the ground with stunning force. He picked up the gun and cursed.
‘I should just finish you now,’ he said, and pulled back the hammer to emphasize his words.
In headlong pursuit, the little pinto had proved to be as swift as Charlie Jefferson had hoped. She had run flat out for almost thirty minutes without faltering but Charlie knew he would have to slow down soon to give the beast a rest. They had followed the natural contours of the land, climbing where necessary as they followed the tracks that he hoped were made by his prey.
He had descended into a dry depression when the sounds of three gunshots reached him from beyond the next ridge. He wasn’t sure that the first sound had been a gunshot, being light, as though from a toy gun, but the second had been the full-throated roar of a forty-five, unmistakable even though it was distorted by the echo in the emptiness of the hills. He touched his spurs once more to the pinto’s flanks and asked it to climb again.
At first when he reached the summit there was nothing to see. Reluctant to rush headlong into a situation that could bring harm to Samantha Sutton, Charlie dismounted and began to descend, moving from rock cover to rock cover but all the time scanning the territory ahead. He saw the horses first, then the body by the tree. It wasn’t until he moved again and was halfway down the slope that he saw the second shape on the ground; he figured it must have been obscured from view earlier by the horses. He knew that both bodies were too big to be Samantha and he wondered what had happened to her.
The hillside rock formations had been an advantage during his descent from the ridge, hiding him from anyone in the depression, but they had also worked against him, had prevented him from seeing a permanent view of what lay below. So it wasn’t until he reached level ground that he glimpsed Samantha’s bright-yellow shirt. She was twenty yards away, near a tree where she was being confronted by the man he knew as Farraday.
Suddenly she moved, evading Farraday’s lunge before diving to the ground. Charlie had his gun in his hand and would have fired, but by this time Farraday was holding Samantha, was shaking her then throwing her to the ground. At last he stood over her, holding a gun which he cocked.
‘Farraday,’ yelled Charlie Jefferson.
Farraday looked up, surprised to hear his name in this remote place but recognizing instantly the challenge and threat in the utterance of that one word. He turned the readied weapon in the direction of the voice. It was his last conscious movement.
Charlie Jefferson fired twice, both bullets finding their target. Farraday was flung backwards to come to rest against the old forked tree. In a moment Charlie was at Samantha’s side, lifting her to her feet and examining her for signs of injury.
Later, as he loaded the horses with the bodies of their dead masters, he found the bag of money tied to the saddle on one of the animals. With Samantha mounted on her pinto, Charlie, walking, led the way back to the relay station. On the way they met the posse that had been organized by Horry Blackmore and the mayor. Henry Sutton was riding with them.
‘You’ve got a brave daughter,’ Charlie told Sutton, but it was clear that that meant little to him compared to the fact that she was safe and going home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Charlie Jefferson didn’t see Samantha Sutton again until he was quitting the territory two days later. In that time he had again been courted by the town committee to accept their vacant position for a sheriff but it didn’t need a moment’s thought for him to refuse. It crossed his mind that his rapid appointment would merely be a means of distracting the townspeople from their criticism of the mayor and his friends, who had almost led the town into a dire situation. At another public meeting they admitted that they had been duped, that the railway men with whom they’d been in contact had turned out to be bogus officials introduced by Farraday and that, although their desire for the development of Mortimer still burned strongly, it would be a long time before they launched the town into another enterprise.
However, what Charlie had done for Mortimer didn’t go unrewarded. All the money was returned to everyone who had contributed to the scheme and in addition to a $500 reward from the town funds, he received other, personal gifts. Chief among them was a deep-chested, grey gelding from Curt Templeton which had been his pride and was renowned throughout the territory for its speed and stamina. To complement his brother’s gift, Joel Templeton had harnessed the horse with a fine Mexican style saddle and accoutrements all decorated with silver conchas. Oliver Calloway, who probably owed most to Charlie because he’d invested the bank’s money without approval, presented him with the best rifle he could buy from the town’s gun shop.
For two days Charlie was toasted wherever he went in Mortimer. No one asked for payment for his hotel room, restaurant fare, barroom drinks or barber services, There were many who thought Charlie crazy for not taking advantage of his celebrity status for longer, but Charlie told everyone that he was going home and that nothing could change his mind.
To the surprise of most people, not least Doctor Spenser, Tom Chisum survived the knife wound. When Charlie visited the Ranger he was told that he would receive a $1,000 reward for the capture of Courtney Farraday. Charlie said that the money should go to Samantha Sutton, who had done just as much to bring Farraday to justice.
It seemed that word of his approach had already been brought to the ranch house by one of the Sutton hands, because when he rode into the yard on Smoke, the grey, leading the animal borrowed from their stock, Samantha was on the porch watching for him.
‘I’m returning your horse,’ he said.
She wore a dress, a plain greyish-blue affair that she probably wore when she was busy in the kitchen or tidying the house, not something intended as a feminine weapon. Her chin was high and she smiled although, it seemed, with difficulty, yet her eyes were clear and her voice was strong and level.
‘Is that your only reason for being here?’
‘No. I came to tell you I was leaving. Came to say goodbye.’
Her lips tightened before she spoke again. ‘And to share a meal, I daresay. That invitation was extended the last time you were here.’
Charlie remembered her words well, sit at table with us, and he remembered too, wondering how her father would react to such a suggestion. At that moment the door behind Samantha opened and Henry Sutton strode out on to the veranda.
‘Jefferson,’ the rancher said in greeting and in that one word Charlie sensed a different attitude, as though for the first time, Henry Sutton didn’t regard him as a worthless drifter.
‘Mr Jefferson is here to eat with us,’ his daughter told him.
‘Well, step down and come inside,’ said Sutton, and Charlie had no option but to obey. ‘Is that Curt Templeton’s grey?’ enquired the rancher.
‘It was. He gave him to me, and the harness is from his brother.’
‘Well, you earned them, boy,’ Sutton said. ‘The town would be bankrupt if you hadn’t been around.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Charlie told him modestly. ‘My involvement was an accident.’
Henry Sutton dismissed those words with a wave of his hand. ‘I’m not forgetting what you did for my daughter, either. I owe you a lot.’
‘Anything I did merely goes part way to cancel out what she did for me. I wouldn’t have been around to help her if she hadn’t saved my life in Mortimer.’
The meal was a simple affair. There was chicken which that morning might have been scuttling about the yard, and potatoes and vegetables which, no doubt, had been grown in their own garden plot. Henry Sutton asked about Charlie’s plans and was clearly taken aback by the news that he was heading for Wyoming.
‘I’ve been heading that way since the end of the war,’ Charlie confided. ‘Haven’t seen my folks for eight years.’
A look passed between father and daughter that reeked of disappointment.
‘Will you come back this way?’ Sutton asked. ‘I was aiming to make you an offer to come here, learn the cattle business beyond roping and branding.’
Charlie grinned. His father had been raising cattle since Charlie was a lad. He already knew the cattle business but he knew he would never convince a Texan about that.
‘You never know what else it might lead to,’ added Henry Sutton, and again his eyes flicked towards his daughter.
‘I appreciate the offer,’ Charlie told him, ‘but I don’t believe I can change my plans.’ An uncomfortable silence hung around the threesome until Charlie rose and thanked them for the meal. ‘I mean to call on the Champions, then get a few miles north before it becomes too dark to travel.’
‘You’ll want to collect your horse,’ said Samantha ‘He’s well rested.’
The big red was in a corral at the side of the house and he trotted over when Charlie climbed on to the gate. As they stroked his head, Charlie told Samantha that when he got to Wyoming he expected to marry Ruth Prescott. She had sworn to wait for him when he went to war and he had no reason to believe she hadn’t.
‘Will you keep Red?’ he asked her. ‘Perhaps if you ride him out now and then you’ll remember me.’
‘What makes you think I won’t remember you?’ she asked; then, in a different tone, added ‘What makes you think I want to remember you?’
‘I guess I just hoped you would because you’re the bravest girl I’ve ever known, and I know I’ll remember you.’
She turned away, buried her face against Red’s neck and stayed there while Charlie walked away.
Dave Champion was in the same position he’d been in when Charlie first saw him: perched on a rail blowing notes out of his tin whistle. When he saw Charlie he jumped down and ran to greet him and to voice his admiration for the new horse and saddle.
‘I can see that you are fully recovered,’ Charlie said ‘How is your father?’
‘Doctor says it’ll be several weeks before he can do any heavy work but he’ll be OK. Harry Goater from the office in Mortimer sent someone out to help with the work here.’
John Champion was very pale but he was pleased to see Charlie Jefferson even though it was a farewell visit.
‘Despite the mayhem you brought with you I think a lot of people will be sorry to see you go. Harry Goater told me that you were the popular choice to replace Abe Agnew as sheriff.’
‘I’m not sure I’d make a good sheriff. I had personal reasons for hunting down those men. One had stolen my horse and Farraday had kidnapped Samantha Sutton. I wasn’t interested in whether or not he escaped with the town’s money.’
Dave Champion told his father about Charlie’s new horse and equipment. ‘You should see the saddle,’ he enthused, ‘it’s covered in silver discs.’
‘Well, it’ll be worth more than that old thing you persuaded us to recover when you were first here. It was so old and worn I don’t know how anyone could stay astride their mount.’
Charlie recalled John and his son riding out towards Cleary’s Canyon, hoping to salvage a saddle and rifle from Harker’s dead horse. A sudden thought gave him hope.
‘Was the saddle still on the dead beast?’
‘No, it had been removed and cast aside.’
‘What did you do with it?’
‘We brought it back here. We’d gone all the way to Cleary’s Canyon so we weren’t keen to return empty handed.’
‘Have you still got it?’
‘It’s with the rest of the tack in the wagon shed.’
Dave went along with Charlie to seek out the old saddle. Charlie recognized it immediately. He picked it up and, like John Champion had said, it was in barely usable condition, but it was his and he could feel the thick paper bonds behind the cloth under-lining. Harker, he realized, had returned to his dead horse to change saddles before riding on to Mortimer.
‘Let’s swap,’ Charlie told a delighted Dave Champion. ‘You can have that rig, which is too fancy for me, and I’ll take back my old saddle.’
Dave Champion was happily playing what he believed was Buffalo Gals as Charlie Jefferson began his journey north, back to his Wyoming home in the valley of the Tatanka.
Will DuRey, Jefferson's Saddle
